


Dr. O

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Bond, John Bond [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Discussion of Abortion, Forced Pregnancy, M/M, Multi, Omega John, Rape, Reichenbach Falls, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title is a wordplay from the Bond Movie, and in no way reflects the plot of the story. Everyone knows an Omega is far too fragile to be a doctor!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bored!

John glanced up from the _Forensic Pathology_ journal to look around the flat. It was neat, tidy, books shelved, alphabetized by author’s last name, and every surfaced gleamed. Well, except the skull. Only so much you could do to real bone to polish it, so John had to settle for dusting it four times a day. Nothing else was left to clean or organize, both activities leaving John with a good knowledge of what was available in the flat. No telly, no entertaining books, and no food, unless the grocery fairies had slipped in while he was engrossed in the exciting new breakthrough in fingerprinting technology: databases! 

He’d selected a journal from the 1970’s to try and figure out why Sherlock would keep it, but every three boring, outdated sentences had him looking up for something else to do. John was bored. Being Mycroft’s minion had been many things, but hardly ever boring. Here, he’d tried to make his boredom productive, which is why Sherlock’s newspapers were ordered by date and publisher, neatly stacked in the upstairs room. Even Mrs. Hudson had run out of things for an able-bodied person to tackle. 

She’d paid him in suppers, which was why his food supply had lasted this long. If Sherlock hadn’t turned up in two days, John would have to ask Mrs. Hudson for food. She’d be happy to, but it was embarrassing, impolite, and told Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock was a bad provider. Even if Sherlock was neglecting him, John still didn’t want anyone thinking poorly of his bondmate. 

Bondmate. The word still gave John a pleasant feeling, though not as much as it had at the beginning, as he was happy to be out from under Mycroft’s immediate control. Mycroft was the head of the family, as least as far as John knew, so Mycroft was still an issue but he had to go through Sherlock. Mycroft had been the one who moved them to another suite to finish their surprise bonding, after Sherlock had lived through the experience. Two weeks of cuddling, talking, planning, and seeing how many ways their bodies could fit together. 

Really, John had talked about himself and his life, while Sherlock had cut in with astonishing observations. Brilliant as it was, John knew it wouldn’t last once the honeymoon was over, but he hadn’t expected this separation. He’d been kept from Sherlock for a week of debriefing and physicals, eating a meal a day with Mycroft. Sherlock had smiled when John was brought to him, and they’d gotten into a black town car together. Sherlock was stiff and silent during the ride, so John let him be, figuring Sherlock wasn’t into public displays. The driver hadn’t needed instructions, so they arrived on a street John didn’t know before a door labeled 221. 

Mrs. Hudson had been so pleased to meet John that he felt at home even before he followed Sherlock up the steps. John could easily see how cozy the flat would be once it was cleared out, and said so. Unfortunately, he’d said so right as Sherlock admitted ownership of the junk. Sherlock had flittered about, almost nervous as he explained the skull was a friend. John had gone to make a good cup of tea, instead of that rubbish from the heavily fortified yet nondescript building they’d been in. He’d returned and set Sherlock’s tea down next to his laptop. 

Knowing how important Sherlock’s work was, John settled down next to him on the couch. Scowling at the computer, Sherlock sipped at his tea absentmindedly. John was wondering if Sherlock would do this with whatever was put beside him while working, as it would get some needed weight on the man, when Sherlock turned to stare at John. John smiled back, and Sherlock turned back to his computer. A flurry of typing and Sherlock closed the laptop and shoved it back into its bag. 

“I have a boring case to attend to.” 

Frowning, John shifted through his responses to find one that didn’t sound whiney. “I thought you didn’t take boring cases.” 

“I told him I’d do it for an outrageous sum, and the fool actually agreed to my price.” 

“If it’s that boring, ask for expenses on top of the fee.” 

Sherlock smiled at that before moving over to a small suitcase, apparently still packed from the trip where they’d met. “I just have to prove which of his kids stole the family jewels and I’ll be back.” 

John was still looking for the least whiney version of ‘you said I could come too’ when Sherlock shut the door behind him. John hadn’t seen Sherlock since, and that was almost two weeks ago. Careful rationing of the food, supplemented by Mrs. Hudson’s love of baking, had been John’s priority so he hadn’t thought to ration the things to do. He was up to four walks a day, and knew he lived on Baker Street. 

He was getting to know the back alleys and shortcuts as well as the most promising locals and shops. Not having any money he couldn’t try these places out, and not having any identification, he couldn’t get a job. He might have picked up some cash when he was covered in beta scent, working as an unskilled, unregistered worker, but nobody would risk that with an omega. 

Assassination and spying paid really well in the movies, but apparently John had been doing his for love of Queen and Country. The only thing John had was the clothes he wore, a grey track suit, courtesy of Mycroft. John considered himself lucky that Mycroft hadn’t shown up to take back the clothes, or charge him for them. 

“Knock knock, John.” 

John grabbed the Union Jack pillow as he stood, wondering if Mycroft was here to take back the clothes after all. Mycroft let himself in, and Mrs. Hudson wasn’t on the landing with him. Bastard had a key to the front door. John had asked Mrs. Hudson for one, but she’d given them both to Sherlock. As much as Sherlock seemed annoyed by his brother, he clearly trusted him more than his bondmate. Not so much of a bondmate then, so much as Sherlock’s omega. His unwanted omega. Suddenly weary, John dropped the pillow back into his chair. 

“Cuppa, Mycroft?” 

“Very kind of you.” With a small incline of his head, Mycroft indicated his thanks for the politeness. “Since it is clean, a rare occurrence in my brother’s house, I would enjoy sitting at the kitchen table while we talk.” 

“Suit yourself.” John shrugged as he went to put the kettle on. 

“What tea do you have in?” Mycroft asked as he set his briefcase on the table. 

John paused to consider his answer, though he knew exactly what his cabinets held. One quarter of a tin of English Afternoon that he’d taken a clump of mold out of and two slices of bread, frozen to hold back a different kind of mold. 

“The English Afternoon is open, if that will work for you.” 

“Yes, it would be very rude of me to expect you to open a new tin just for me.” Mycroft’s voice was so noncommittal it spoke volumes. “English Afternoon will be fine.” 

John got the tin down, not the least bit bothered by the posh git knowing exactly what was in John’s kitchen. What did the bastard want, anyway? 

“John, our parents were happily bonded for most of their lives. I can only hope you and my brother have the same in store for you.” 

Didn’t matter if he was legitimate, he was still a bastard. Mugs prepared, John turned to look at Mycroft while he spoke. John had found it endearing when Sherlock read his mind. Mycroft; not so much. 

“I do like to be prepared, however, so I have had a will drawn up for Sherlock. It would be in your best interest to have him sign it, when he returns.” 

“I don’t suppose you know when that will be?” John ventured, hoping Mycroft could predict the future as well as read minds. 

“I do not expect him back very soon; missing children can take a while to find.” 

“Kids? I thought he was looking for some jewels?” 

“The Jaria Diamond? He solved that weeks ago. Really John, you must try harder to keep up with your alpha.” 

John turned away to poke at the kettle, as if he could make water boil faster. There wasn’t a working telly or radio in the place and even if he’d had a phone he didn’t have Sherlock’s number. Sherlock clearly got his news and information from the internet, and guess who didn’t have a computer? The kettle whistled then, like it knew the answer and John snapped it off. Pouring the water as slowly as he could, John tried to cover over what he felt. He was a soldier, not a lovesick omega. John handed Mycroft his mug, hoping Mycroft took it black, because he couldn’t pay John enough to beg milk off of Mrs. Hudson. 

“Lovely.” Mycroft said after a sniff of the brew. “John, I couldn’t help but notice you wear the same outfit for every one of your walks. You are even wearing it now, so I do wonder when you find time to wash it.” 

John put his tongue between his teeth and bit it, hard enough to hurt. He was not going to tell Mycroft he wore one of Sherlock’s robes while the clothes washed and slept naked while they dried. 

“Secrets of the gender, I expect.” Mycroft’s voice was knowing and smug, even if his face didn’t show any of that. 

John kept his tongue trapped. He’d thought he’d found all the cameras and ‘accidentally’ covered them up while tidying. 

“It has occurred to me, John, that Sherlock might have left before seeing to certain legalities. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked around and could not find any paperwork on you. No bonding certificate, no request for identification, and no request for access to funds at the bank. Could it be, I wondered, that John wears the same outfit every time he goes into public because Sherlock didn’t buy him anything else? Knowing my brother as I do, it was far too possible.” Dipping his hand into his briefcase, Mycroft brought out a stack of paper. On top of the Will and Testament was a plastic card. It had the trademark of an exclusive bank downtown and the name John Ω Holmes. 

“This card is from my accounts, as I could not open one for you under my brother’s name. The funds will be unlimited, provided you do a small job for me.” 

“Who do you want me to kill?” 

“You gave up your days of killing, John.” This reminder was sharp, making the soft words after it sound false. “As Sherlock’s omega, you must be worried about him. I worry about him, constantly. It would ease both our minds if we could communicate about what he is doing; the things that make us worry.” 

“You want me to spy on Sherlock for money?” 

“Nothing too personal, as Sherlock is your alpha, just anything you feel like telling me.” 

“I’ll sell my heats first.” 

“Please, don’t become overemotional about this. Sherlock will take care of you to the best of his ability. The last two weeks must have shown you just how able he is in this area. You should be able to see that you will have to take care of yourself, and anyone else that comes along.” 

John didn’t press a hand to his abdomen, wondering if Mycroft’s test knew something he didn’t. “I can, and I will.” 

“Trust issues, did you know? Your original psychiatric evaluation upon joining the army said you had trust issues. As you were lying about your gender, that is to be expected, but my evaluators said the same thing. Could it be you’ve chosen to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people?” 

“Hormones.” John snapped back, before trying to make himself sound like a teenager omega in a movie. “It’s all just hormones, because a silly little omega like me only wants to make my alpha happy.” 

“Charming.” Mycroft returned with a condescending half smile. “Read the papers and think about my offer, John. After all, selling your heats isn’t likely to bring Sherlock running back to you, is it?” 

John forgot how to see as he realized what was going on. Somehow, for some strange reason, Mycroft had convinced Sherlock to leave him. Was it temporary or full out abandonment? When he could focus past his rage, John saw Mycroft at the door, picking up his umbrella. Mycroft turned to speak from the doorway. 

“The place looks lovely, my dear.” 

John’s mug smashed into the door where Mycroft’s head had been only moments before. John sighed, happy the mess would at least give him something to clean up, once he’d found every last camera in the flat. When Sherlock did return, he was going to have a very detailed report of what his acid collection could do to recording equipment. The Sherlock from their honeymoon would appreciate that. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

The light bulb had burned out in Mrs. Hudson's bathroom, earning John a solid meal and some leftovers. As such, it was four days after Mycroft's visit that he ran out of tea and breadcrumbs. Mycroft's card had provided an excellent report for Sherlock about which of his acids dissolved credit card plastic best. It was a handwritten report, complete with Oxford citation from the relevant materials that could be found around Sherlock's flat. 

John had resigned himself to it being Sherlock's flat and moved into the second bedroom, the neat stacks of newspaper providing insulation in case the electricity ran out. John's basic chemistry classes had been enough for him to titrate and label the unknown acids in Sherlock’s lab, but couldn’t help him stretch one serving of tea leaves to four cups of tea. As such, he was trying to convince himself the dirty looking hot water would taste just fine when the doorbell rang. 

It wasn’t for him, as nobody knew he was here, but it did remind him of the mouth-watering Irish Stew Mrs. Hudson had made him for fixing the doorbell. He didn’t even lock the door anymore, hoping Mrs. Hudson would drop by with the baked goods she ‘accidentally’ made too many of. He wasn’t sure if she pitied him or wanted someone to talk to, but he did know that wasn’t her gait on the stairs. Looking out from the kitchen, John watched as his door was opened without the tiniest hint of a knock. A man with silver and pepper hair was first in, and stopped only two steps in. 

“This can’t be the right place.” A woman said as she stopped behind silver hair. 

“God no,” agreed a bearded man with weasel eyes. “This place is actually livable.” 

“Be that as it may, our warrant is for this address.” Silver said, taking a few more steps inside. “Besides, who else in London would put a skull on their mantelpiece?” 

Amused, John smirked at that even as he waited in the kitchen. They had warrants and had passed Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson, so they must be real cops with a real reason to be here. 

“Holy!” Silver had turned his head and apparently seen John. He recovered quickly and the three that had already spoken moved toward John. This let uniformed officers swarm into the room and get to work. 

John fought the urge to reach for the knives in the drawer beside him. As much as he’d wanted something to do and people to talk to, being advanced on like this was not what he’d had in mind. 

Silver might have got a hint, because he stopped a few feet from him and reached into his coat pockets. 

John caught the scent of two alphas and a beta, so he’d just have to sort out who was which when they got closer. John looked at what Silver was holding up, an official looking paper in one hand and a badge in the other. 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade. We have a warrant to search this flat for illegal narcotics.” 

“You think Sherlock’s a druggie?” John almost laughed. “Have you met the guy?” 

“So, Sherlock does live here?” 

That was a far more loaded question than John wanted to answer, so he ducked and covered with a shrug of the shoulders. “His name is on the lease.” 

“Who are you?” Beardy demanded, with an aggressive growl that let John know who one of the alphas was. 

“John.” Another shrug and a long moment where they realized he wasn’t going to offer any more information. Beardy straightened and bit of alpha scent reached John, confirming his hypothesis. 

“Anderson.” Lestrade barked out, naming and reprimanding the alpha in a single word. 

John could appreciate that technique and wondered if he’d ever get to try it. 

Lestrade put the warrant and badge back in his pockets and stepped closer, as if to say something calming and friendly. He inhaled through his nose before saying it though, getting a whiff of John. He blinked twice, then leaned forward and sniffed. 

John considered smashing the mug up against his rude silver head, but hesitated when he did his own sniff test. Lestrade was a beta, and in charge. John was impressed, knowing how hard that was, since he’d spent most of his army career as a beta. 

“God help you, you bonded with Sherlock.” Lestrade’s voice was soft, surprised, and confused. But he apparently was also loud enough for the other two to hear, as they both responded at the same time. 

“What?” 

The woman recovered first, stepping forward to get a better sniff. Anderson stuttered to do the same several seconds later, so the woman alpha was clearly the smarter of the two. 

“He followed you home, didn’t he?” She asked, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

John kept himself from breaking her wrist, even as he turned to put the mug in the sink which moved her hand off his shoulder. 

“What happened?” She continued in a sympathetic voice that probably worked well on trauma victims. “Your first heat after being widowed and he tracked you by your scent? Things like that are grounds for dissolution of the bond and you can forget you ever met the freak.” 

Lestrade and Anderson weren’t much help, and a glance at them showed why. They wanted the answers as well and probably thought her approach was best. John was disappointed in Lestrade, simply because the man had to know what it was like to be talked down to because of his secondary gender. 

“I was being forced to bond with another alpha. Sherlock fought for me and won, in the traditional way. Why are you looking for drugs now?” 

“Donavan, Anderson, go find those drugs.” The two alphas reluctantly obeyed, shooting looks at John as they did so. Lestrade watched them go before talking to John again. 

“Sherlock has a record for drug possession, and he’s been to rehab at least three times. I’d hoped it stuck this time, but we got a call that someone was seen buying drugs at this flat, and he matched Sherlock’s description.” 

“An anonymous tip, I suppose?” 

A nod. “Caller said he saw this last night, though they didn’t call until this morning.” 

“Wasn’t Sherlock then, as he wasn’t home last night. But a false drugs bust sounds like the sort of thing an archenemy would do.” 

“Archenemy?” Lestrade asked with a flicker of his eyebrows. 

“That’s what Sherlock calls him, but he’s a manipulating git and I’m going to shove that umbrella up his three piece suit.” 

“Umbrella, waistcoat, very posh, tall, articulate, and a bit ginger?” 

“You’ve met then, Detective Inspector?” 

“Bastard kidnapped me the second time I let Sherlock help with a case. Drove to some parking garage and tried to bribe me into spying on Sherlock.” 

“I was locked in a building for a week after the bonding.” 

“Sorry John. I wouldn’t throw him out of my bed but I couldn’t find any leads on him after my kidnapping.” 

John winced, realizing he had to explain something. “Um, Sherlock calls him an archenemy. His name’s Mycroft and he calls Sherlock his brother.” 

“Sherlock’s brother is the posh ginger that keeps kidnapping me?” 

“Keeps, as in repeatedly?” 

Lestrade looked around, as if searching for another topic, when Donovan walked up and gave him one. 

“Sir, could I have a word?” 

Lestrade nodded at John before walking out of the kitchen to talk with Donovan. They spoke too low for John to hear and kept their heads close together. Anderson poked his head in a few of the kitchen cabinets and the fridge before going over to join them. 

John had cleaned the flat, searched it for cameras and entertainment, so he was pretty sure there weren’t any drugs in it. He’d found some needles but thought they were part of the science equipment. John did know that moving away from a person was a universal sign that you didn’t want them to hear what you were saying so it was probably about them, at least in John’s paranoid universe. The signs of omega neglect were all over the empty kitchen and he wouldn’t be able to prove who he was beyond the mingling of his scent with Sherlock’s. He could run and be down the steps before they realized it, but he’d still be unable to earn money or eat. It went against every self-preservation instinct he had, but he’d have to sit tight and wait to be rescued. 

Maybe. Idea forming in his head, John moved around Lestrade to go to the partner desk by the windows. Digging through the stack of papers the lab techs were testing for drugs, John pulled out the will Mycroft had left. John had wanted to burn it, but thought it would be leverage in getting a job. The will showed Sherlock had very little money to his name, little enough that John had wondered how he was paying for the flat. 

Lestrade broke away from the conference and walked toward John, face tight. Anderson and Donovan walked behind him, looking a little too smug for John’s taste. 

“John.” Lestrade started, regretfully but determined. “Do you have any identification?” 

“The paperwork is still processing, and it can’t be picked up until Sherlock gets back. Like I said, he wasn’t here last night to buy drugs.” 

“How long ago did he leave?” Donovan asked, still in that sickly sweet tone. 

John ignored her, handing the will to Lestrade. “This has my name on it, showing I belong to the Holmes family.” 

John hated that he was willed to Mycroft if anything happened to Sherlock, but knew it was standard in traditional families. Lestrade flipped quickly through the stack, too quickly to read anything and looked up. 

“This could refer to anyone, as there aren’t any pictures in it. John is a pretty common name, so that doesn’t help much either. Worst of all, it’s not even signed, so John could be a typo.” 

“When Sherlock gets back, I’ll have him drop by your office and clear all this up.” John offered with a friendly smile. 

“Omega neglect is a serious issue, often found in alphas who bond suddenly or without preparation. You don’t have any food, or money, or a bank card and ID to get money or even a job. My team reports separate bedrooms and they haven’t seen any clothes for you.” Lestrade paused to run a hand through his hair. “John, do you see where I’m coming from?” 

“Don’t forget the chemicals in the kitchen.” Anderson added. “Who knows if Sherlock marked them correctly?” 

“I titrated those and labeled them, so they’re not dangerous to me.” John offered, fighting to sound reasonable and not as irritated as he was. He’d really had enough of being locked up and assumed to have the IQ of cabbage, thank you. 

“Alphas and betas…” Lestrade started. 

“Take omega protection very seriously.” John finished for Lestrade, who had the grace to look embarrassed at the trite response. “I understand. There’s no need for a muff.” 

Donavan made a cooing noise, as if she couldn’t decide the omega was sweet for not resisting or a danger to himself for risking normal handcuffs. 

John closed his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t seem him rolling them. He was a soldier, he wasn’t so fragile that they needed to put his right hand under his left elbow and wrap his forearms in bubble wrap for a muff. 

“Cults brainwash people by restricting their food.” Donovan added, a bit of harshness in her tone. It was a nice change from the voice she had been using. 

“Feed him up proper and he’ll divorce the freak in a heartbeat.” Anderson added, the look in his eyes suggesting he’d like to be John’s rebound alpha. 

John had seen that look in far too many of the men Mycroft had sent him to trap. Even if his killing days were over, John still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Stepping into Anderson’s personal space emphasized their height differences. Looking up through his eyelashes, John stroked two fingers lightly down the center of Anderson’s beard. 

“I can’t promise anything, but I do think you’d look cuter without the beard.” John stepped away and Lestrade was there, taking his bicep in his grip. 

They were out on the landing before Lestrade whispered in John’s ear. “If he shaves that ugly think off, I’ll give you twenty quid.” 

John gave a small laugh, but Mrs. Hudson moved into view at the bottom of the stairs. She looked worried, so John stopped to give her a reassuring hug, Lestrade still clutching his arm. 

“John?” She asked as he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Hudson. They want proof that Sherlock is my alpha, so if you see him would you let him know?” 

“Oh, that boy!” Mrs. Hudson muttered before speaking up as John was led out the door. “I have a more than a few words for Sherlock, don’t you worry.” 

As Lestrade showed him to a car and took the driver’s seat, John started to see the potential in this ride. Mrs. Hudson hadn’t said too much about her past with Sherlock, just enough to let John know he shouldn’t ask. Anything he asked about Sherlock had been met with variations on how it was Sherlock’s place to tell him, so John wondered if Lestrade would be so closed mouthed. Looking at the traffic before them, John asked as casually as he could. 

“So, how did you meet Sherlock?” 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

Sherlock stared at the imbecile across the table from him. Said imbecile had parents who had become rich while he was still in school. This prevented him from having the manners and diction of a public school education, and the fact that he’d graduated showed his parents had quickly learned how to quietly buy him out of trouble. 

Killing a beta woman in a hotel room was a new mistake, one easier to punish than his slaughtering of grammar. Sherlock wanted to educate him on the important difference between hang and hung, but instead he was here to provide the parents with proof that their darling boy was innocent. Seeing the man’s easy temper, Sherlock decided the parents would have to settle for less guilty. 

“Go through it all again.” Sherlock snarled at the imbecile, realizing he’d already deleted the alpha’s name. While he talked, Sherlock looked thoughtful, but only because he was thinking about an important subject: John. 

The week he’d been separated from John by Mycroft’s need to debrief him had been torturous. It had been even worse when his attempts to see John resulted in meeting Mycroft and being forced to listen to lectures on how to care for his omega. Mycroft had clearly contracted some brain disorder, probably through one too many paper cuts from all that red tape Mycroft loved, because the things he said didn’t apply to John. 

Other omegas might need or expect mansions, silks, and jewels to feel valued, but not John. Sherlock’s mate was steel wrapped in terrycloth and would love to be out in the real world. Most of Mycroft’s lectures went unheeded and straight into the delete pile, until he’d hinted that John was pregnant. If John was or was not, there was still the possibility of children in the future, which would require money. Mycroft or Mummy would take John in if anything happened to Sherlock, but the thought of John being forced to live with either of them was horrible. John would need a nest egg, the children would need trust funds, and Mrs. Hudson would need tenets who paid on time, so Sherlock needed money. 

John was fascinating, and every minute spent with him made him more interesting, so Sherlock had all he needed, the rest was for John’s benefit. Though there was one thing Sherlock wanted. Both Mummy and Mycroft had sent him pictures of bonding bracelets, and Sherlock wanted to see John wear one. The one Mummy had sent was gold, encrusted with diamonds and had four chains that lead to four rings, one on each finger. Mycroft’s choice had been a bit more refined, plain gold with a single chain leading down to one ring that would match Sherlock’s. Neither had seen enough of John to know that he would need platinum to contrast his honey skin tone, and that the chain would have to be removable. Sherlock knew John was really good at punching people and didn’t want the man to hurt himself on his jewelry, should the need to punch arise. 

John, any children they had, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock’s desire that the world know John was his, were the only reasons Sherlock was now out in the world, making money. If he could find this imbecile a way out, Sherlock would have enough to start with and be able to go to John. Go home, and didn’t that put a warm feeling in his chest. The imbecile shut up, so Sherlock took this as his cue to speak. 

“Listen carefully. You have never been with an omega in heat.” 

Imbecile opened his mouth to protest his alpha status, but Sherlock cut him off with a hand gesture and a glare. Doubtless, they were being recorded. 

“You have never had an omega’s heat. You got lost on your way back to the hotel and smelled an omega’s heat. Upset at being lost, drunk, and now with an omega in your nose, you overreacted to the way the beta with you smelled when you got to the closed environment of the hotel room. The laws in Belgravia allow for heat frenzy to excuse many actions. A competent lawyer will get you some counseling and a two year jail sentence. Sound harsh, but much better than being the newest chandelier in this place.” 

The man shouted out his thanks as Sherlock walked away. Guards led him to the front where he could collect his personal belongings. He ignored the four calls from Lestrade, knowing he was going to have to force Lestrade to pay him, and wondered at the call from Mrs. Hudson. She hadn’t left a message which meant she was either looking to chat or so angry she didn’t want to waste her rant on a recording. Which was a shame, as some of her tongue lashings should be recorded as an example for mothers everywhere, but Sherlock couldn’t have done anything wrath worthy as he was here, so he put off their chat. 

He searched the internet while a taxi drove him to the parent’s hotel, so he had facts at the ready. He explained the local laws about omega heat frenzy, showing the relevant cases to the lawyer who was with them. Next were a few places that were within walking distance to where the killing took place and had a likelihood of causing a heat frenzy. An apartment that catered to bonded couples and a nightclub that used synthetic pheromones weren’t too far from each other, so imbecile stood a good chance of getting off. 

After they transferred the money they owed him, Sherlock headed for the room they were renting for him. After finding the earliest method of getting back to London, Sherlock showered, the water as hot as it would go. He hated to use his skills for these simple, boring things, just as he hated people using their gender as an excuse. John hadn’t used his gender to keep him from being a doctor and a soldier. Happily, Sherlock had reached his monetary goal and could return to John. He needed to smell the man, get used to living with him, and learn what John expected of him. Sherlock accepted he would have to change many things about himself to keep John around but he thought John was worth it. 

After showering and packing up everything he’d brought with him, Sherlock still had six hours before his flight. Flopping on the bed, he set the alarm to wake him in four hours and called Mrs. Hudson. He could sleep through her chat and she’d be too happy he slept to think him rude. 

“Sherlock Holmes, be silent for once in your life and listen to me.” 

Sherlock suspect he’d deduced wrong the second Mrs. Hudson had spoken without waiting for him to identify himself, but the seething anger in her voice was more than enough confirmation. Angry though, and not upset as she would have been if John was hurt. 

“Of all the things you’ve done, I have never been this angry, disappointed, or ashamed of you. You begged me for the flat when you knew I had a nice, stable couple ready to sign the lease and pay a full rate. Since it was for you and your mate, and because you signed the no drugs clause, I let you move in. At no point did it occur to me to have you sign a clause about not abandoning your mate!” 

Sherlock opened his mouth to correct her, but Mrs. Hudson was still talking. 

“I spent the night with Mrs. Turner so you would have some privacy on your first night in a new home, only to return and find you’d left John with nothing more than the clothes on his back and food meant for your experiments. While he was upstairs hovering, I ran up and down, trying to sneak as much food in your kitchen as I could before he noticed. Did you not notice how independent that man is? He won’t take charity and I’ve run out of things to break so he’ll take food as payment for fixing it.” 

Sherlock found himself half grinning, proud of John and Mrs. Hudson. 

“Sherlock, I don’t know why you brought home a man almost as independent and stubborn as you, only to force him to be dependent upon you. The police dropped by and since John didn’t have any identification they took him to the Yard. What have you to say for yourself?” 

So many thoughts raced through Sherlock’s head he couldn’t find the one to make her happy. He was doing this for John, John was his how dare the Yard touch him, he thought Mycroft was taking care of things... “Mycroft.” 

“Don’t mention that name to me! He came by several days ago, made John so upset he broke a mug against the door. And John was not happy about being dragged away but at least they will feed him.” 

“I’ll be in London as soon as I can.” 

“Do you have any idea what you’ll do when you get here? Drag John back and leave him again? Or just let him rot until your bond dissolves and Mycroft gets him?” 

Sherlock found he was growling into the mobile and forced himself to stop. 

“Yes, John is yours, and don’t you forget it.” Mrs. Hudson warned and acknowledged at the same time before disconnecting. 

A moment of stunned silence while he thought about things, and then Sherlock was up and moving. Bags packed and computer stowed away, he checked out and got a cab to the airport. Once he was through airport security he pulled out his computer and connected to the internet, finding the British Omega Registration website. 

He hated the boring bureaucracy that Mycroft thrived on, the things Mycroft usually took care of for him, but meticulously filled out the forms to claim John. From the government site to his bank and the registrar of bondings, Sherlock spent over four hours filling out fucking forms and thinking up revenge on the people who created them. He resorted to googling ‘how to legalize a bonding’ just to make sure he had all the correct offices notified before texting Mycroft. 

_How is John? SH_

It was the same text he’d sent every day since he’d left on his business trip, and always earned similar replies from Mycroft. Replies that said John was safe, dining with Mrs. Hudson, reading a book, or cleaning the flat. Simple replies as to John’s current occupation, suggesting that he was safe and watched. That had comforted Sherlock, but he doubted a similar text this time would be so graciously accepted. Shoving his feelings away, Sherlock focused on the words that showed up on his phone. 

_Today is a busy day for me, but my subordinates report John got on well with DI Lestrade. MH_

_Why was Lestrade there? SH_

_Must have a case he wants you to solve. Did he not text you? MH_

_Ignoring his texts until I discuss payment options with him. SH_

_A sound business strategy, though working for me would be more profitable. MH_

_No and never, you interfering wanker. SH_

_Keep my lucrative offer in mind. Omegas are rare and expect to be treated as the valuable things they are. MH_

John was not a thing, and Sherlock forced his emotions aside yet again. Mycroft was holding back information on John, apparently believing Sherlock would trust Mycroft over Mrs. Hudson. Why though, would Mycroft work so hard to keep Sherlock from John? The texts made it sound as if Mycroft was doing all this to get Sherlock to work for him. Mycroft had always wanted that, so he could control and monitor Sherlock constantly, but there was always a hidden plan with Mycroft. The only thing that had changed recently was John, and buying things for John was a strong motivator, but why encourage Sherlock to run around and make money, which only confirmed his independence from Mycroft? 

Mrs. Hudson’s words came back to him then, in her angry voice, ‘until your bond dissolves and Mycroft gets him’. Was it that simple? A new bond, formed under difficult circumstances and without an emotional connection could be dissolved with an extensive separation. Many bonds made during the first presentation were dissolved that way, often by sending the omega to finishing school in another country. Sherlock could admit to an unexpected emotional connection with John, but didn’t think John’s appreciation for getting him out of Mycroft’s service was enough for John to desire the bond. 

Mycroft had never wanted an omega dragging around after him, demanding his time, but he was interested in the Holmes’ line. If Sherlock saw John’s independence, then so did Mycroft, and Mycroft must have decided John was the only omega for him. He could impregnate John and leave him at home, not needing to waste time with caring for John. Mycroft would use John’s needs to keep Sherlock away long enough to dissolve the bond, and take John for his own. He probably expected Sherlock to react to the dissolution by falling for Mycroft’s manipulations and becoming one of his brainless minions. Mycroft wanted John, not realizing he’d only get him over Sherlock’s dead body. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

John looked around the omega cell and, strictly to fight off the same boredom in a different place, thought up ways to kill himself. Maudlin, sure, but the cell was symbol of everything wrong with societies’ view of omegas. Special furniture with rounded edges and excessive amounts of padding, because omegas were so fragile. Instead of the cot, sink, and toilet of a standard cell, John had a double bed, a rocking chair, a toilet and a sink. 

Most surfaces were covered in a softer version of the paper covers John had used as a doctor. Pulling off the little corner elastics and tying them together to hang himself with brought his possible death count up to six. If he tore enough off of the padding off the sink and commode, he’d get to the porcelain and could bang his head on it until he died or was stopped. His thoughts were interrupted when a woman came in, bearing a food tray. 

The tray was special made to fit into the sink, so an omega could reach it from either the rocking chair or the toilet, though John hadn’t figured that one out. Surely, if you needed to eat and excavate at the same time, you should be seen by a doctor. Either way, that was where Lestrade had put the tea when he dropped John off. As the mousy woman walked by, John caught the scent of an unbonded omega and, strangely, chemicals. Just like Lestrade had stayed to make sure John didn’t hurt himself on a cup of tea, the woman sat gingerly on the bed to make sure he didn’t hurt himself on supper. 

“Hello, I’m John.” He offered with his friendliest smile. He was actually glad for the food and company, even if he resented the reason it was offered. The food looked like standard prison and military food, so John ate at it while focused on his companion. 

“Oh, I’m Molly. Hi.” Molly gave a shy smile in the direction of the floor before looking up long enough to blush and ask. “Are you really bonded to Sherlock?” 

“He stopped me from being forced to bond with another alpha, one I didn’t like. Poor Sherlock just got caught in the hormonal crossfire.” 

Molly bit her lower lip and looked away, and John almost felt her heartbreak. 

“Sherlock left and I don’t know when or why. He might have gone to dissolve the bond with distance, if he had a prior commitment to, um, anybody.” 

“Sherlock wouldn’t do that!” Her outburst seemed to surprise her, but she seemed honestly insulted by the idea. “Sherlock’s a nice, well, not nice, but honorable, about certain things. I mean, he treats me badly but just the same as he does everyone else, and I’m sure there must be something special about you.” 

Her brain caught up with her words and John could see the instant she realized the insult. He replied with a gentle smile. “Believe me, I know all about the simply joy of being treated like a normal person. That’s why I hid as a beta for as long as I could.” 

“I’m a late bloomer.” Molly rushed to get that out in defense of her lifestyle before explaining. “I was about to graduate and I had job waiting at Barts’ when I went into heat. Missed the ceremony, but they were ever so nice about mailing the diploma to me. And the bosses at St. Barts let me have the job anyway. I’m a forensic pathologist, which is how I met Sherlock, when he came to the morgue.” 

John took a meditative sip of the tea-like beverage provided and heard what Molly didn’t say. Her diploma probably had the name of the school removed and she’d had to beg to get that. Barts gave her the job, doubting she’d work one day before an alpha snatched up such a wisp of a woman. This many years later, she was probably still the lowest person on the totem pole and hadn’t had a single pay raise. 

“Surprising number of late presenters wind up with degrees in biology and chemistry.” Was all John had to say to her situation. He hoped it conveyed that things were slowly getting better, though he didn’t really believe it. 

“You’ve met others?” 

“Many. I lived as a beta because I learned to hide myself before the internet was popular.” 

Molly blushed deeply, confirming that she knew exactly what he was talking about. The way she looked away indicated she might have had something to be embarrassed about, or hide, but it did let her see John’s empty plate. 

“Oh, you’re finished. I need to go then, make my report.” 

“What report? I thought you worked in the morgue and I’m not dead yet.” 

Molly gave an embarrassed sort of laugh. “They ask me to help out when they have omegas in here. I’m not scary like some of the beta cops.” 

“Very true Molly, and I’m sure the other omegas are as glad as I am to meet you.” 

Smiling, she got to her feet and carried the tray away. Two quick taps on the door got a uniformed officer to open the door, his curious look lingering over John. 

John sat back and rocked his chair, wishing he could have had another plate or two of that slop. He was careful not to think too deeply about Molly’s age, and if he was guessing right, her first heat would have been about the time authorities had narrowed down the search for a certain Miss Kitty. Someone John had hoped to find and thank just as much as the governments of the world had sought to punish. 

Using the anonymity of some impressive internet hacking, Miss Kitty had posted a simple guide for creating heat suppressors with household supplies. Molly was about the right age, had gone into a field that required chemical and biological knowledge, and was careful to keep her head down. Clearly, Miss Kitty was an omega rights activist and not a shy, identified omega in a dead end job, waiting for her alpha to rescue her. It was John’s desire to meet the hacker and biologist that had him placing Molly in the role. No, Miss Kitty couldn’t be Molly, simply because Mycroft could read John’s mind. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

Greg liked to plan out his day as he walked into NSY and to his desk. He went over what he had lined up for the day, even knowing it never worked out the way he planned. A suspicious death would come in, or Sherlock, something to keep him busy and away from those hateful stacks of paperwork. After all these years, planning out his day was mostly about mentally shifting away from the worries of his personal life to being the guy in charge. It wasn’t often that his days deviated from plan the second he saw his office, and even rarer where the occasions when these deviations were not caused by Sherlock, but apparently this day was very special. 

There was a large, angry man yelling at Anderson in the open area before Greg’s office. Anderson sported three squares of loo paper, apparently out of practice at shaving. The newest member of Anderson’s fan club was not Sherlock, his recently identified brother Mycroft, or anyone Greg could recognize from the back and side. His voice had been yelling about family heirlooms while Greg walked toward them, but Sally had beaten Greg to intervening in the fight. Leaving them to it, Greg hurried by, deciding he’d go see how John was doing before starting his day. 

The men’s room opened after Greg had passed it, but he was only partially aware of this and not expecting to get grabbed by the bicep. Greg turned to fight off his attacker, only to find he was being hauled down the hallway by an irate Sherlock. Wrenching his arm free, Greg stopped and glared right back at Sherlock. 

“Let’s go. John needs to be let out.” 

“Since when do you care about what John needs?” Greg saw his words make Sherlock flinch, before he pulled up his defenses. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to release John to me.” 

“Make me understand. Explain to me how leaving an omega without food or the resources to get food shows you care.” 

“My archenemy is attempting to steal John from me.” 

“I saw the will, where Mycroft Holmes gets him if anything happens to you.” The statement was a question, Greg looking for confirmation of what John had said. 

“What? Oh, that fat git!” Sherlock started pacing in the hallway, forcing everybody else in the hallway to dodge around him. 

John had been right then, Mycroft was the archenemy and brother. The kidnapper Sherlock had let Greg worry about and try to track down, knowing exactly who he was. 

“Why does he have to interfere with everything? Only interesting man on the planet and Mycroft decides he has to have him, when he’s never wanted an omega any more than I. He sent me out to make enough money to support John, assuring me he’d look after John and clearly this is my fault for not making sure that ‘looking after’ wasn’t code for spying on with cameras while he starves to death and rots from boredom until he has to be rescued.” 

“Sherlock.” Greg snapped out in his best commander voice. It got an angry Sherlock completely focused on him, and Greg continued. “You’ve never wanted an omega either, so maybe you should let this bond dissolve.” 

“No!” His reply wasn’t the possessive growl of an angry omega; more like a man in love being told to give up his love. “I would want John even if he wasn’t an omega. No longer than I was with him, he kept getting more and more interesting. He never says what I expect him to and he thinks, well, he appreciates my deductions.” 

Greg smiled; he knew how to handle a man in love. Turning towards John’s cell, Greg walked away with Sherlock right behind him. Turning a corner, Greg hoped Sherlock couldn’t see too clearly over his head, at least not clearly enough to identify the five officers staring in at John. 

“Get back to work.” 

The men turned to look before scrambling away. Greg could feel Sherlock’s glare as it followed the four alphas until they found another turn to hide behind. One remained behind, as he was the guard on duty, and he was blushing and scared when they reached him. 

“What’s with the peep show, Harrison?” 

“Sorry sir, they just walked by and got interested.” 

Looking in the window himself, Greg saw what got the alpha’s blood pumping. John was awake and doing one-handed pushups. The layout of the room had his left side to the door and gravity had pulled his trousers tight around his bum, including a little divot down the crack between cheeks. Sherlock began to growl and Greg pulled his eyes away. 

“Let Sherlock in.” 

Harrison and Greg had to turn their keys at the same time to get the door open and Harrison only dropped the key once under Sherlock’s glare. John bounced to his feet when the door was opened and grinned when he saw Sherlock. That was all Greg saw before John was smothered in a hug from his taller alpha. It would have been polite to give the reunited couple some privacy, but policy dictated that they watched, to make sure the alpha wouldn’t get violent or harm the omega. 

Greg was distracted by a text, and since he doubted Sherlock would do anything stupid, right this minute anyway, he checked his phone. It was from Sally. 

_You are needed in the squad room. Mr. Barry is upset about an antique dagger being destroyed by evidence processing._

Ron Barry, his brother’s wife was killed in the case he’d been texting Sherlock about for a week. The dagger had matched the wounds but wasn’t the murder weapon, but they’d had every legal right to check. It was interesting that he was here about that and not his sister-in-law’s unsolved murder. 

“Sherlock, John, anytime you’re done.” Slightly embarrassed blue eyes looked around Sherlock’s arm before John struggled free of Sherlock’s embrace. When John was visible again, Sherlock looming behind him and daring others to look at John wrong, Greg felt it was safe to speak. He spoke to John because he was bound to be the more sensible of the two. 

“I’m letting you go with Sherlock because I can smell the blending of your scents. Clearly you’ve bonded, and you haven’t said anything about wishing to dissolve the bond or if there was any abuse. When you get papers, I will need to see those documents, in this office, in person. Otherwise, I’ll have to arrest Sherlock and press charges for omega neglect. Understood?” 

“I’ll do my best to get you those papers.” John nodded. “Thanks.” 

“I have a case Sherlock could help on, and I do owe you that twenty quid.” Greg offered, hoping that would be enough to get Sherlock and John to follow him, and headed back to the confrontation in his office. Two sets of footsteps followed, struggling to find a pace they could walk together. The three of them had just rounded the corner when the noise stopped. 

If Greg hadn’t been looking for Sally and Anderson, he might not have seen the reason for the sudden silence. Mr. Barry had just stabbed the evidence bag into Anderson’s stomach and the dagger blade had penetrated bag and skin. Mr. Barry jerked his hand away but the evidence bag stayed in place while red bloomed around it. Sally grabbed Mr. Barry’s hands and handcuffed him as John shot by Greg, Sherlock on his heels. The nervous omega from Sherlock’s kitchen was gone, replaced by steady hands and a commanding tone that everyone obeyed. 

“Anderson, lay on this desk. You, clear your desk and call for medics. Someone get me a first aid kit.” 

The stuff on the desk was shoved to the floor, and a mobile was used to call for paramedics. Two first aid kits were placed on the desk and John flipped them both open. A pair of scissors was used to cut open Anderson’s shirt and John snapped on gloves before probing around the wound. He frowned at what he saw, and started packing rolls of gauze around the dagger and holding pressure on it. 

Greg had moved over without thinking about it, without letting his emotions out. Once Anderson was taken care of, then he could be pissed about what had happened. He could hear John talking to Anderson, in a calming voice and see Anderson looking at John as if he was as much in love as Sherlock. There was a clatter and then Dimmock was leading in the paramedics. John saw them and changed back to his commanding tone. 

“Stab wound to infudibulopelvic ligament, will need x-rays to see if the ureter has been nicked, can’t move the knife until then, which lets out the MRI.” 

The paramedics understood all that, or at least enough to know they needed to steady the knife with foam blocks before moving Anderson to the gurney. John led the count and Sherlock moved Anderson’s head, almost as an excuse for standing so close to John. The paramedic nearest Sherlock clicked the safety belt in place before grinning at Sherlock. 

“You must be so proud of your alpha.” She offered in a stage whisper before the gurney was rolling away, a startled looking Sally following behind. 

John really had an adorable blush as he peeled the gloves off. He was probably dreading what would be made of that comment, as most alphas would have reacted badly to being mistaken for an omega. Sherlock looked a foot taller and so proud you’d have thought he was the one who taught John how to care for knife wounds. Looking at Sherlock, John was clearly confused by this response and looked to Greg for help. Greg could only shrug back, hoping John took it to mean ‘it’s Sherlock, he’s always different’. 

“Right. I should go wash up.” John muttered, heading for the same bathroom Sherlock had come out of earlier. The door closed behind him, breaking some spell Greg had been under and he was turning and snarling at Mr. Barry. 

“What are you playing at, stabbing one of my men in my house?” 

“It was an accident!” Barry yelled back, but he was shaking and couldn’t look Greg in the eye. “He destroyed a priceless family heirloom.” 

“That dagger was a fake.” Sherlock interjected casually, mind probably still on John. “You needed it back before Anderson discovered it was fake, which requires a level of competency that Anderson has yet to reach, so you were safe. The real dagger is what the police need to make their case. Antique, family heirlooms are lovely, but easily traceable murder weapons. Not often used in premeditated murders, so a weapon of opportunity for a crime of passion. Had the fake one for insurance or display purposes, so gave that to the police when they noticed the real one matched the wounds.” 

“Mr. Barry, you are under arrest for the murder of your sister-in-law and assault on a member of the police force.” Lestrade was pleased to say. “Dimmock will read you your rights and escort you to the interrogation room. Before I get there, I strongly suggest you think about how badly cops take it when one of their own is hurt.” 

Dimmock stepped up to take Mr. Barry to interrogation and most of the office turned to watch. Greg turned to Sherlock. 

“Well, you can ignore those texts from me for the last week.” 

“I did. I have a mate now and I have to make money. If I don’t get enough private cases, I’ll have to start charging you when I catch your murderers.” With a face splitting grin, Sherlock focused on Greg at last. “Or maybe John will charge for saving your lives.” Raising his voice so the whole office could hear, Sherlock continued. “Did my John forget to mention he was a surgeon? He’s so humble.” 

Several of the alphas in the room shifted and glared, but they didn’t dare say anything. There were several betas in Greg’s squad and they looked impressed and cheered up by the announcement. Either way, they all turned to look when Sherlock started striding across the room so he was there when John stepped in sight. John blushed at the stares and Sherlock put an arm around his shoulders. Sherlock only needed a tail to fluff out and he’d be the world’s proudest peacock flaunting his mate. 

A quick flip through his wallet and Greg walked toward the increasingly flustered John, breaking the line of stares. A quick handshake transferred the twenty pounds to John. “That was some quick thinking, John.” 

John grinned back, and kept the twenty. 

“Naturally.” Sherlock added, because he’d only take to fast thinkers. “Come along John, apparently we have some shopping to do.” 

Sherlock’s voice was as commanding and dismissive as normal, but he waited for John to start walking. A small courtesy, yes, but Greg watched them walking away, feeling like he was going to owe John a great deal of thank you’s in the not too distant future. Smiling, Greg went to interrogate his murder suspect. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

A cab magically appeared when Sherlock waved his hand, and John got in first. He slid over, only to find Sherlock had opened the door on the traffic side of the car. There was a moment of confused staring before Sherlock closed that door and returned to the first door. He settled in, carefully not looking at John. Fastening his seatbelt, John gave the address before he realized it was the first time he’d said it out loud. 

“221 Baker Street.” 

Hyde Park was on their left before Sherlock spoke, though he stared out the window as he did. 

“It was not my intention to leave for this long, certainly not to abandon you. I have applied for your documentation and it should be here soon, if Mycroft doesn’t interfere anymore.” 

“Anymore? He did make you leave, didn’t he?” 

That got Sherlock to turn and look at John, looking rather pleased at something as he nodded. 

“He wanted me to spy on you, to assuage our mutual concerns.” John said. 

“Considering that I’ve just picked you up from jail, I take it you didn’t agree to his terms?” 

“He called in a drugs bust so the Yard was sure to find out how I was living.” 

“I do apologize for that, John. I spoke with Mrs. Hudson and she assures me that if I give you any further trouble she will make me hurt for days.” 

John snorted. Despite the woman’s small, frail looking frame, he’d no doubt she could carry through on that threat. 

“She has also agreed to organize the kitchen, sorting out the basics of food and cleaning supplies. We are to stop by for breakfast and further instructions before purchasing you a wardrobe.” 

“Must be a thousand things you’d rather do than go shopping.” John found himself grinning as he said it. If he had clothes, he had a few hundred things he’d rather do than shop. 

“Most of the time, you’d be right.” Sherlock said, as he stared at John with a frown. “But I think I will enjoy the time I spend with you, no matter what our activity is.” 

John felt another blush heat up his cheeks, and wished for his suppressants. An unexpected side effect of the hormone suppressers and scent blockers; John hadn’t blushed when he’d been on them. The cab stopped, and a quick look confirmed they were home. Sherlock passed a card to the cabbie and got it back before getting out. 

John slid across the seat to get out on the same side and took one step towards the door before pain bloomed across his chest. A quick look showed a dart and John jerked it out before body blocking Sherlock from the sniper. A gurgle told him Sherlock had a dart in his throat, and then two more were in John’s chest. He fought, but soon enough the darkness pulled him from Sherlock. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל


	2. Worse things than boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's been taken and bad things happen to him.  
> If you have any doubts after reading the tags, feel free to skip this chapter and pick it up at the next one.

Sherlock woke with a growl already sounding from his throat and it took him longer than he’d like to realize he didn’t have an audience. Instead of a threat to fight or an omega to protect, Sherlock was alone. He recognized the room he was in and fought the last of the tranquilizers to get out of it. Stumbling downstairs, his feet knew the route to Mycroft’s office from his days of forced rehab. Mycroft’s townhouse hadn’t changed at all, nor had Mycroft. Barging in his office still forced an eyebrow of annoyance out of him. 

“Please come in, Sherlock.” 

“Where is he?” 

“From the belligerent, possessive tone, might I infer that you are asking after John?” “Piss off and give me John!” 

“Really Sherlock, you must know I can either piss off or give you John, but not both.” 

The surge of irritation at Mycroft’s pedantic reply was enough to push Sherlock into a state of angry clarity. He managed to seat himself on the edge of the visitor’s chair and only glare hatefully at his brother, instead of beating him senseless. 

“We both underestimated Moriarty.” 

“Please elucidate, Mycroft.” 

“The consulting criminal career was his foothold into other organizations. Taking advantage of an individual’s needs, his solutions usually required him getting by security protocols. After his death, my team began to investigate his legacy. There are few legitimate corporations that have not felt his influence, and fewer illegal operations. Moriarty managed all this without a single arrest on his record.” 

“So the spider turned the world into his web and manipulated it will. Where’s John?” 

“Metaphors tend to simplify the subject matter, and you know I don’t care for them.” 

“The spider sits in his web, jerking the strings and making the insects beneath him dance for his whims. Until he sees another spider, a lone, hunter spider who doesn’t need a web. Intrigued, the web spinner begins to send out feelers, looking for information on the hunter. Just when the contest is about to begin, a fat, old, balding weasel dropped another web spinner on the web, out of his desire to keep the world boring. Oh, but the old, fat, balding weasel was also going blind and senile, so he didn’t notice the bait he was using was actually a hunter spider, only in a wooly jumper that made it look like bait.” 

“Enough, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock was inclined to agree, since he had no idea where the jumper comment had come from, but the extensive, abused metaphor seemed to be getting results. “Tell me where John is or I’ll tell you how the jumper wearing hunter spider got the better of the pompous weasel.” 

“We cannot find John.” 

“Why not?” Sherlock’s calm was gone as he was on his feet and pacing. 

“As I attempted to explain, Moriarty’s holdings and influence were vast. We have reason to believe his associates have taken John.” 

“Moriarty’s dead! Knifed through the eyeball, declaration of death done by the same damn doctor that stabbed him.” 

“I was unaware that John had made the fatal blow, but someone has taken control of Moriarty’s networks. The transition was smooth and not nearly as bloody as these things usually are.” 

“Who?” 

“As we seek to find that out, we would appreciate your assistance with this endeavor.” 

“Tell me.” 

“I have provided you with the clearance to work with the data we have.” 

“No. Tell me what you don’t want me to know. I’ll find out anyway, and if you don’t tell me now it will go worse for you.” 

“What is it that you think I would hold back from you, my dear brother?” 

“You have a reason to suspect Moriarty’s network is behind this, and that’s what you’re not telling me.” 

Mycroft didn’t sigh, but it was a near thing. “Video surveillance managed to catch an image of the sniper leaving the scene. He was positively identified as Colonel Moran, who escaped custody during your extensive honeymoon.” 

Mycroft’s antique desk moved three feet closer to him as Sherlock shoved away from it. Mycroft had to do an undignified wiggle to get his chair over the area rug so he could breathe again, but Sherlock had already left. It was probably expected that he would leave, as Mycroft’s minion hadn’t stripped him and his coat was by the door. This idea was confirmed by the black car that followed Sherlock as he walked back to Baker Street. It was a long way to the flat, but Sherlock needed to burn the anger out of his system. Sentiment and being on the losing side were things Sherlock could not afford, not if he was going to get his John back. And he was going to get John back if he had to burn the city down. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

As he woke, John realized that waiting for rescue had been a crap plan. Trying not to sigh or give any indication that he was awake, John listened, sniffed, and felt. He was in a decadently comfortable bed with sheets that still smelled new. They were soft, without the harshness associated with repeated washings that even the poshest of omega suites eventually developed. The air was heavily filtered, and the only thing John could smell was an omega about to go into a chemically induced heat and an alpha in the room. 

A quick check of his body confirmed that John was the omega in this equation. The single sheet John was under wasn’t enough to make him sweat as he was starting to. There was also a strong sense of want coiling at the base of his cock and wetness just starting between his legs. Symptoms that wouldn’t be so strong if he was already pregnant, though he wasn’t on birth control anymore and the alpha in the room wasn’t Sherlock. Another not good bit. The alpha’s own chemical response was in the air, but subdued in some way. No alpha would willingly go on suppressants, so he was forced to take them or injured. 

There was one surefire way to draw him out and get him close enough that John could fight back before his heat was fully on him. Shifting his hips, John wiggled his arse against the mattress and moaned. Even asleep, such a move would have felt good enough to make him moan, so he allowed the noise out. And it did feel good. 

There was a sharp intake of breath from across the room, but the alpha didn’t come closer. A surprising amount of discipline or drugs, so John kicked the sheets off. He sighed as he found this was actually rather nice and cool. The alpha chose this time to make a phone call, but John’s pride was soothed by the want in his voice. 

“Boss, he’s starting to, god, move.” 

John couldn’t hear the reply but listened intently anyway. He didn’t notice his hand was moving until he moaned at the brush of his fingers against a sensitive nipple. 

“Still asleep, but damn the noise he’s making. Moaning and he smells so good, so fuckable.” 

John shifted again, this time closing his legs and turning to his side. He decided that was a mistake when a glob of slickness dropped slowly out of his arse, the precursor to a steady stream of natural lube. 

The alpha moaned over the phone to his boss. “It’s so beautiful when they present in their sleep. Wake him up being split in two on my cock, fuck him until the babies start meeting my cock in his gaping hole.” 

There was a thunk as something was dropped, and John guessed it was the phone. Giving up the pretense of sleep, John sat up and looked. The alpha coming at him was in a wheelchair, some injury to the spine preventing his cock from taking part. There wasn’t even the slightest lump in his kakis but his eyes and brain were heavily invested in mating with John. His legs were skinny, long atrophied, but his upper body was tight with muscles under his black t-shirt. 

John might be able to outrun him, assuming he could get out the door and his legs would hold him. But running while in heat meant any alpha could easily track him and he probably wouldn’t even be able to sneak up on beta guards. His best option would be to kill the alpha and ambush the boss when he came in the door. Plan at the ready, John only had to steel his resolve to killing a man in a wheelchair. Stupid to hesitate, but there was a doctor in John that wanted to fix the man’s pain, especially when the alpha might actually take good care of him. 

The alpha put a comforting hand on John’s thigh. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” 

It was tempting, for just a moment, before John’s bond sent him a charm against his hormones. Sherlock’s image flashed into John’s brain and he closed his eyes to reset to what was actually important; Escape, Evade, Eviscerate. John’s own private version of Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape as taught by the military, enhanced by Sherlock’s knowledge of where to hide the bodies. The hand on his thigh moved up, taking a swipe through the fluid John was producing and John opened his eyes. 

The alpha was sucking on the fluids, eyes in near orgasmic bliss when hands appeared on either side of his neck. A quick snap and that alpha was dead. Clearly he’d been chosen to guard the omega because he couldn’t do much more than want, and he was disposable as few criminal organizations were adjusted for the differentially abled. The wheelchair was pulled aside, and John faced a new alpha, a grinning one John recognized. Moran put a hand on John’s chest and pushed him back down onto the bed. 

“Don’t worry poppet, I’m here to fix that ache in your arse.” 

John’s arse responded, rubbing on the mattress again. Moran turned to look, letting John see more than his military haircut and leathery skin. He was wearing nose filters, which must mean he had plans that required overcoming his basic instincts. Bit not fucking good, John realized, even as his cock responded to the strong alpha pheromones. Basic alpha instincts involved impregnating and protecting the omega, and Moran had a reason for bypassing all that, even if he was shoving the dead alpha competition into the hallway. He returned with a woman beside him, who only increased the alpha scent in the room. She didn’t sniff John, so he figured she had nose filters as well. 

“You have a fertile omega in heat. Why was I asked to bring all that equipment?” The woman asked, clearly not liking being kept in the dark. 

“I don’t want him having my kids.” 

“Then you might want to get a doctor, or a shrink.” 

“But do any of those owe Jim as much as you do?” 

The woman frowned, but accepted that reasoning. “So I help you impregnate him with Jim’s spunk and you clear all my debts?” 

“As promised.” Moran said, extending his hand to her. 

The woman didn’t look as if she completely believed Moran’s promise was worth anything, but she shook his hand. 

Moran started disrobing, while she walked out of John’s vision. Moran was the more obvious threat, so John felt justified in keeping him in view. She might be a problem but women were more subtle then men, at least in John’s experience. She might poison or stab him later, but it would be planned out and careful. Moran would just start beating on him in a fit of pique. The same way Moran, without a bit of foreplay, stuck two finger’s in John’s arse to check his fluid level. John hissed and arched at the sudden contact, as he wasn’t quite ready for that, but Moran started scissoring him open anyway. 

John was easily accepting a third finger by the time the woman returned, now wearing a lab coat and holding a swab. She reached over to force John’s mouth open but it opened to lick at her fingers and she bit her lower lip. She’d willingly fuck him through his heat, and John would rather her than Moran, but the nose filters meant John would have to seduce her with just his looks. That was not going to work, as John was ordinary looking and way below the woman’s league; even before he got shot he’d have never tried it with her. She took her swab and walked away calmly, and John looked back at Moran. 

Moran was standing at the foot of the bed, his left hand working John opened while he wanked with his right. Moran shifted his left, turning it into a fist and came over John’s knee. The woman walked up and jabbed a needle into Moran’s hip as he was still riding his orgasm. His only response was to pull his fist out of John. 

“His estrogen is high.” 

John knew estrogen levels could be detected through mouth swabs, a simple procedure that people could do at home. This was useful in determining fertile points in a cycle, and indicated a high probability that John wasn’t walking out of here alone. So that’s what she’d been up to, that and getting Moran’s shot ready. 

“So high,” the woman continued, “I’d say he was almost ready for a natural heat before you induced.” 

“Poor baby was forced to come out of hiding, and off his suppressants.” For all the understanding of Moran’s words, there was only hate in his voice. “Promised Jim a child and let another alpha kill him. They bonded, so his body is trying to award his mate with a child. I just have a marvelous sense of timing for such things.” 

“Not a widow then? Interesting.” 

John wanted to roll his eyes. Even the cops had thought he was a widower because of his age. Repressive laws made it hard for an omega to reach his age without bonding, but they’d probably be surprised at the number of omegas who would wait, if given the choice. Still, waiting to see what his captors were going to do to him was probably not the best time to start an argument about omega rights. And his body was still leaking, rubbing against the sheets again in an effort to get some friction. 

“You ready, Irene?” Moran asked, naming his conspirator at long last. 

“Do you want a condom in case that shot doesn’t kill all your sperm?” 

“At least for the first few rounds.” Moran nodded, and took the packet Irene produced from her lab coat pocket. 

Moran wasn’t quite hard yet, but the fact that he was almost there indicated that enough of John’s pheromones were getting through his filters to affect him. Irene didn’t look as affected, as her cock hadn’t dropped down yet, so her filters were better. A few strokes after putting on the condom and Moran was ready, and he flipped John onto his stomach. John got a nice rub against his cock in before Moran was pulling him to his hands and knees. A solid thrust and Moran was all the way in, laughing at John’s gasp. 

“Careful Moran. Treat him gently or this might not take.” Irene said. 

Moran paused, and John found his arse sliding itself up and down that cock. 

“Omegas are made for fucking, why would it matter if I was careful?” 

“When you take the heat of a bonded omega, you have to act like the omega’s bonded or else the pregnancy might not take. Self-protection and the reason for the bond, as the omega’s body rejects the fertility of an alpha they’re not bonded to. Basically, the bond is there to ensure paternity.” 

John looked to the side to get a quick glance at Irene for that statement. How would she know, as he was a doctor and had never read anything like that? Who was she that she knew about omegas, enough that she could say something unsupported by medical science and Moran would take her word for it? John dropped his head, least he be caught doing something out of character like staring or thinking. 

“And how do you think a virgin would take an omega for his second heat?” Moran did believe her, and was moving on to how he should proceed. 

John almost shook his head in disbelief. 

“Hard to say, but probably with delicacy, at least until they are both locked in the heat frenzy.” 

“Fuck.” Moran muttered, before moving again. 

He was slow and steady this time, but John had already accepted him so there was nothing else to prepare. Irene had said what she did simply for John’s comfort; to keep him from being needlessly injured in this event. Confusing, and she was here because she owed Moriarty something, so what where her intentions? Dare he think about her loyalties? 

“Fuck, he’s so tight. Bastard took my fist and it’s still a vice in here.” 

“Omegas usually are, until about the fourth child.” 

Irene replied before John accidently did; that was something he’d learned in medical school and very true. She then reached over and grabbed John’s balls with cold hands; not a skill learned at medical school. It had John moaning at the added sensation. 

“He’s very close; pull out.” 

Moran growled, and Irene’s hand pulled away. There was a sound, much like a whip, but John didn’t feel a sting. Moran must have, as he stopped growling and moving for a moment, before slowly pulling out. He let go of John, who put his weight on his arms so he was in the proper presenting position. Daring to drop his head further and look between his legs, John saw Irene drop a riding crop before attaching something to the head of Moran’s cock. It was attached to a tube, which wriggled in the familiar ways of hospital catheters. When she stepped back, Moran slid back in, with something plastic and bulbous leading the way. It caught on John’s prostate before sliding forward, teasing against the opening of his vaginal breach. 

“There.” Moran crowed, rocking to shove as much as he could into John’s opening. “Got him.” 

“Hold it there.” 

John knew he couldn’t really feel it, as there weren’t the right kind of nerve endings down there, but his mind knew what was going on and presented him with the matching sensations. They’d figured out how to attach a catheter to Moran’s cock, which was then directed into John’s opening. This wouldn’t work with females, beta or omega, because of the layout of female anatomy. Only with an omega males’ single access plumbing could this work. John was sure he could feel as Moriarty’s sperm was pushed through the tubing and into his fertile self. 

Jim had been the only assignment of Mycroft’s that John knew, without a doubt, was right and just. Moriarty was smart, connected, and rich. He’d only have ever been convicted if he wanted to be, and he was a danger to the world, a psychopath if John ever met one. John would have been able to deal with an unwanted pregnancy from any of the other alphas he’d seduced to their deaths, but he didn’t know if he could accept Jim’s offspring. What if Sherlock blamed him for this and rejected them both? Knowing he couldn’t run from the alphas behind him, John retreated to a very tiny place in his mind and recreated 221B around him. There were things worse than boredom. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

John hid in his mind flat as much as he could, letting his body go through the motions of his heat. He’d have rather been in the heat induced bliss state, but that was reserved for Sherlock. If Sherlock would still accept him, or at least, not give him to Mycroft. John knew that Sherlock had come looking for Moriarty, back when they met, and it wasn’t to join Moriarty’s organization. It seemed like Sherlock was willing to work things out, before the darts had found them, but this would be too much. The bond was already weak, and Sherlock could easily sever it when he found John. If he was looking, Sherlock would find him. If he was looking. 

It was thoughts like these that forced John out of his mind flat, to take in what his body was doing. Medically, he knew that omega’s conceptions rates improved if they were allowed to climax, so his body was having a good time of it. Each time he was close, the catheter would be reapplied to Moran and Irene would pump Jim’s sperm in. John was wondering just how much of Jim’s sperm they had collected, and why he’d gathered so much before his death. Had the sperm been washed and concentrated properly, the way it would be in an actual fertility clinic, or were they just throwing everything at the uterine wall to see what stuck? 

Moran liked John on his hands and knees, but he couldn’t keep that position up forever. To that end, they’d brought out a short-legged padded sawhorse thing with a broad back for his torso to lay over. This kept his hips right where Moran liked them, and kept the path straight for the catheter, while Moran’s cock could be angled down into him. 

Irene kept control of the situation, and Moran, preventing him from impregnating John himself. She also took swabs of John’s mouth and anus before each round, testing them for the presence of human chorionic gonadotropin. The hCG would have to be in large doses before being detected by a store bought pregnancy test, but there were new tests that found the tiniest amounts, often before the omega’s scent began to change. John suspected that’s what Irene was looking for; he only hoped he’d be released once it was positive. 

He emerged from his mind flat hoping for hCG, and retreated when Irene shook her head. He wasn’t sure how to act when she grinned and held the test in front of Moran. He grinned back, and gently lifted John off the sawhorse and placed him on the bed beside it. John’s heat was diminishing, so days had passed, but it was still present and filling the air around them. Moran moved the sawhorse and took its place on the bed. More pulling, and John found his back resting on Moran’s chest. A gentle hand stroked his abdomen, where the baby would grow, and John shivered at the contact and the thoughts. 

“Little cumbucket wants to go again.” Moran laughed, clearly in a good mood. “Come join us for this one, Irene.” 

“I do have paying work to get back to.” 

“I’m not asking.” The playfulness was gone, and Moran was shoving John down on his cock. 

Irene came over, and John could see that her cock had dropped out of her vaginal sheath at some point, but was still behind the lab coat. 

“What do you want me to do, Moran?” 

“Isn’t that obvious? Jim loved this position, like being on top of it all, said it was like fucking me. And I’m giving you the honor of that position.” 

Irene smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pulled a condom out of her pocket, but Moran’s harsh ‘no’ stopped her from opening it. 

“No condom. We’re using this cumbucket the way he was meant for.” 

Irene hesitated, but complied. The lab coat came off and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her cock got harder, filling with enough blood that it curved upwards and she carefully knelt between their legs. Using some of John’s lubricant, she prepped herself before sliding in, joining Moran in John’s arse. 

John couldn’t breathe; he’d never been this full. Alpha’s didn’t share and he’d never dared to be with two beta men at the same time, so it took Irene’s soothing hands rubbing his stomach to get him breathing again. She gave him a few good breaths, and then she started moving. Beneath him, Moran began matching her thrusts and timing. John tried to retreat but the sensation was too much, and each shift made him more aware of everything. 

Irene’s movements became more frantic, and Moran started to chant ‘Jim’. It wasn’t much longer before one or the other came, triggering the other. Moran shouted Jim as he came and Irene closed her eyes. John’s erection was left alone, confused after the preferential treatment it had been getting, as Irene pulled out. Moran waited a moment longer before pulling out and moving John. Moran rolled away, opening a chest of drawers. He pulled several things out before returning to John with a butt plug. Once it was in, he propped John’s hips up on a pillow and walked away. 

“Well done, Irene. I hope you enjoyed your bonus at the end.” 

“You’re finished with me, and all my debts are cleared?” 

“Yes, as I promised. You may get dressed and leave the building; my guards won’t stop you.” 

“Thank you, Colonel.” Irene gave him a real smile and moved to finish dressing. She didn’t waste time gathering her equipment, except the riding crop, she just got ready to leave as quickly as she could. She was reaching for the doorknob when Moran spoke. 

“Though you do know that if you ever betray me, the sperm sample you’ve just given me will go straight to Ambassador Adler.” 

Irene clearly expected something of the sort and was resigned to it when she turned around. “I would never betray you, but I understand if you feel you want some protection.” 

“You may go.” Moran said, turning his back on her with his dismissal. 

Irene was clearly a smart woman, as she fled while she could. 

Moran got a specimen cup from Irene’s supplies and returned to John. He removed the butt plug and scrapped as much fluid into the cup as he could get. Not bothering to hide his nudity, Moran took the sample to the door and opened it, handing it to a subordinate. 

“You know what to do.” 

“Yes, sir. Do you want me to turn on the air filters now?” 

“No, I’ve decided to play with this one a little while longer. Just see to it that the sample gets sorted before it’s sent to the Ambassador.” 

“Yes, sir.” The guard’s snappy salute was blocked from view by the closing of the door. 

Moran locked the door, got in bed and returned his hands to John’s abdomen. With a happy smile, Moran drifted off to sleep. 

John looked around the room, looking for ways to kill Moran. There were several needles, which worked for air embolism as well as injecting substances, and probably some scalpels as well. Lots of ways, but would it be a good idea? Moran had what he wanted and might keep John prisoner until the baby was born, giving him nine months to think of an escape plan. If he tried anything right now, Moran’s men might be so surprised that they killed him without orders. 

He was starving, dehydrated, and exhausted, so he wouldn’t get far if he tried to run. And pregnant, don’t forget pregnant. This time, John wasn’t waiting around to be rescued, but he was waiting until he could walk before trying anything. Or he could get a scalpel and have it ready in case Moran used any of those toys on him. Glancing at the toys, John saw a phone in the pile. Rather careless of Moran, but he’d probably wanted it close in case of emergency. 

John started to get it, but was stopped when Moran’s hand grabbed at him. It relaxed after a minute, but by then John knew he’d have to do this carefully. Moran might have made a careless mistake but he wasn’t stupid, and his reactions indicated he was a light sleeper. Thinking about it, John decided to cheat; if he was going to have trouble getting to the phone without Moran waking up, he was also going to have trouble using it. 

Slowly, carefully, he reached over and flicked the filter out of Moran’s nose. Moran swatted at the feeling and John rolled over to grab the phone. He settled back under Moran’s hand just as his absence was starting to wake the man up. Finding John, Moran rolled onto his side and flung his left leg and arm over John. John gave him a few moments to fall back to sleep before turning on the phone. It was a newer model, but was fortunately in silent mode when it turned on. John got the password on the first try, not because of any special skill but because it was three letters long. At long last, Jim was good for something. 

It took an embarrassing long time to send a text message, and it came back almost immediately as undeliverable. It was the only emergency number Mycroft had given him, back when he worked for the man, so John could only hope it was still active. He wasn’t sure dialing 999 would work, because he might not even be in England. That was a thought, and John resent the message, this time with the country code in the number. While he waited to see if it would come back, John tried to memorize the contacts and dates on the phone. 

When Moran sat up about four hours later, he was so gone in the heat frenzy he didn’t even notice John toss the phone under the bed. As Moran rocked into him, John closed his eyes and thought of England and the text he’d sent there. 

_This is Colonel Moran’s phone, Moriarty’s fuck buddy. Please trace this and arrest or kill me, Mr. Holmes._

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

Sherlock, in the few minutes a day his transport forced him away from his work, hated. He hated and didn’t hate Mycroft, as the interfering jackass was still his big brother. He hated Moriarty as he uncovered more layers of the man’s organization; it was impressive what Moriarty had going on. Sherlock was only surprised that he now hated himself as well. 

John, the not so innocent omega who was more than capable of taking care of himself, had been reduced to the stereotypical omega by Sherlock’s treatment. This man was kind and forgiving enough to hope for their future when Sherlock hinted at an apology for his treatment. Then John had been further reduced to a bargaining chip, forced to wait for his alpha to find him, and Sherlock was intrigued by Moriarty. 

What kind of failure of an alpha would be fascinated by the one who hurt his mate? 

Washing his hands after a refreshing pee, Sherlock washed his face and returned to the sitting room. Mycroft’s PA was taking his coat off the rack and he ran to her, taking his coat back. 

“The emergency number given to low-level employees received a text and we are tracking the signal now.” As she moved down the steps, Sherlock twirled into his coat. Not for dramatic effect, but because it was the easiest way to put it on. 

“What did John say?” Sherlock asked as he followed at her heels, knowing a black car awaited them. 

“He did not sign the text, but we are reasonably certain it is him.” In the car, she worked her phone and sent Sherlock the text in question. 

_This is Colonel Moran’s phone, Moriarty’s fuck buddy. Please trace this and arrest or kill me, Mr. Holmes._

Sherlock laughed, knowing this message was from John. “Sounds just like him, cryptic and sweary while getting the information across.” 

“Indeed. It is only the inclusion of Mr. Holmes name that allowed the technicians to ensure the correct department received the text.” 

Looking out the window, Sherlock took in their location. They were heading to the airstrip Mycroft used for his clandestine plane trips, the one with a hanger full of computer hackers and data miners. Soon, they would have Moran and Sherlock would have John. Soon, Sherlock begged of the gods he didn’t believe in, soon. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

When John finally woke, free of his heat, it was to banging on the door. Moran moved first, opening the door to glare at the minion chosen to wake him. Said minion was noticeably frightened and quickly muttered his report. John only heard the occasional word; intercepted, gathering, and what was probably ETA. Moran’s cussing reply was so contrastingly loud that all John heard clearly was an evacuation order. When Moran glared at John, John fixed what he hoped was an intimidated look to his face. From Moran’s snarl of a reply, it didn’t work. 

“Stay.” Moran ordered John before turning back to his minion. 

John had many ideas of what to do to that broad, unsuspecting back, but simply sent him a two fingered salute. Moran was pulling on his clothes and rummaging through all the equipment left in the room. The door was opened again, the minion pushing in the dead alpha’s wheelchair. Knowing it was for him and that the arrival of help was causing the evacuation, John didn’t want to get into the wheelchair. Squirming off the bed, he got to his feet just in time to catch another tranq dart to the chest. Clearly, Moran had found what he was after. 

John didn’t actually remember being shoved into the wheelchair, but that was probably how he got to the vehicle. He slept for most of the car ride, and woke enough to see it was dark when they put him on a gurney. He was strapped down quickly and efficiently, so he pretended to still be asleep. He realized he was in an actual ambulance, but Moran sat beside him in a paramedic uniform. Deciding to wait a while longer, John let the medicine put him to sleep again. 

Yelling in a corridor woke him up, and he realized he was in a hospital. Moran was yelling about a pregnant omega in a car wreck, alpha not around, yet with what Dr. Watson considered surprisingly stable vital signs. The machine that went ping woke John more thoroughly a short while later and he quickly realized he was the omega Moran had been lying about. 

The staff was conferring over his head and around him, looking for signs of trauma. Someone was surprised to find dehydration, so they hooked John to an IV as soon as a blood sample was taken. John felt better as soon as the cannula was in; even though he knew it was the placebo effect. He was getting medical care and if he ended the pregnancy now, Sherlock might still accept him. He could even call his number for Mycroft from the room phone and give them a clue as to where Moran was. John’s smile at the thought got the attention of the staff, and an old man began to question him. 

“What’s your alpha’s name?” 

Couldn’t start out with something simple like John’s name or who the Prime Minister was; had to go straight for the complicated questions John didn’t want to answer. He’d just had his heat with two and a half alphas, who weren’t Sherlock, so whose name did they want on his charts? 

“Come on honey, we need your alpha’s permission to treat you.” 

John turned his full attention on the doctor who had spoken. Tall, a little pudgy around the middle, with a full head of white hair and a thick Irish accent; his ID said Jason Moriarty, MD. The whole room heard John’s blood pressure spike over the monitors but only John knew it was from the surname. Irish accents, so in Ireland, maybe, please God, Moriarty was a common name here? 

“Doctor, I need a rape kit and an after-heat pill. When that’s done, I’ll give you my alpha’s name.” 

Dr. Moriarty’s face hardened but John still saw his disgust before he covered it over. “We’ll do the rape assessment, but you have just come off your heat. Let us explain it to your alpha and it will be easier on you.” 

John let his head drop back and closed his eyes. He’d loved the brief time he’d been stationed in Ireland; it was a beautiful place that encouraged thinking and creativity. Except for when it came to reproductive rights, such as the after-heat pill he’d asked for. Dr. Moriarty had sidestepped the topic, expecting the stupid omega to give up his alpha for something never promised. 

Even the way Dr. Moriarty had turned the request for a rape kit into an ‘assessment’ showed he didn’t think omegas could make the distinction themselves. Did no one question why he was naked from his ‘car crash’ and missing alpha? John wasn’t ready to face Sherlock, so he licked his dry lips and turned his best doe eyes on Dr. Moriarty. 

“Please, doctor. I was kidnapped from my home while my alpha made preparations for my heat. My kidnappers held me through my heat and I don’t want my alpha leaving me because I might be pregnant with another alpha’s child.” 

“Hush, darling. I’ll talk sense into your alpha, just give me a name.” 

“No.” John said, before closing his eyes and ignoring all further attempts at communication. Eventually, he was moved to a private room and given a mild sedative. As it took effect, he heard Dr. Moriarty speaking outside his door. 

“If he’s that worried about his alpha, maybe we should just keep him until the baby is born.” 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל


	3. Found and Lost

Days passed slowly in a hospital, especially for a physician that couldn’t heal himself. John picked at his food, but ate most of it. The individual servings of sealed snack foods he placed in the darkest part of the tiny closet in his omega suite. He knew hospital protocol and could easily sneak out of here when he needed to, and a few cups of pudding and fruit would keep him from begging until he was out of the immediate search area. But fuck if he had any idea where to go. 

As he flipped telly channels and listened to his IV drip, John tried to answer that question. He hadn’t seen Harry since he enlisted, and that was only because she had showed up to talk him out of it and to quit hiding his sex. She might even have left England by now, which left him without family to go to. Strangers would want to take him to the hospital or his alpha. A different hospital, with a different doctor might not be so bad, but that meant he had to convince that hospital not to send him back to this one. Everyone believed that alphas and betas could only do what was best for omegas, so they wouldn’t listen to what he had to say. 

It was a crazy story if left at the kidnapping and captivity. When he added the psychotic doctor who might be a great-grandfather to the baby he was carrying, it got a little farfetched. It was a rural hospital in County Mayo, with only two fulltime doctors on staff. As such, Dr. Jam, as John now called Dr. Jason Moriarty in his head, had full run of the hospital and could drop in at any time. Dr. Jam dropped in on John once an hour unless he was in surgery or out of the hospital. John had woken up on two different nights to see Dr. Jam standing over him. As he’d only been in the hospital for three nights, John was worried by this trend. The honeys, darlings, and sweethearts were about to drive John to shove Dr. Jam’s phone down his throat. 

Familiar footsteps called to John, and he curled up to pretend to be asleep. All it got him was a hand caressing his face before Dr. Jam started speaking. 

“John Doe, little darling, wake up and talk to me.” 

John woke up slowly, before stretching to knock Dr. Jam’s hands off of him. “Sorry, doc. Guess I was sleepy.” 

“I know just what will perk you up.” Dr. Jam said with a smile and without a term of endearment. 

John was instantly suspicious and tried to hide it behind a fake yawn. 

“Knowing your alpha was almost here would cheer you up, wouldn’t it?” Dr. Jam gave a little pause for dramatic effect. “Are you very sure you don’t want to tell me how to contact anybody?” 

John imagined choking the man with his own stethoscope. “One tiny after-heat pill and I’ll tell you everything.” John didn’t expect the pill, and the time here had altered his perceptions, but at this point it was simply a battle of wills with the older alpha. 

“You are so very stubborn, dear. Well, open up and say ahh.” 

Dr. Jam did different tests every time he came into the room. John wasn’t sure if it was an excuse to come into the room or an excuse to touch John. Either way, John would have reported his creepy arse to the medical boards if he could. But this time it wasn’t a tongue depressor that was coming at John, so he hid his mouth behind his hand to speak. 

“What’s that for?” 

“It’s just a swab, it won’t hurt.” 

“A genetic test is often done with a cheek swab and I haven’t consented to that.” 

“Honey, if you would be reasonable about all this, I wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.” Dr. Jam cooed at him, waving the swab around. 

“It’s still illegal to do such a test without consent or a sound medical and legal reason. The baby’s genetics are important, not mine, and you can’t do an amniocentesis until the 15th week of pregnancy without risking fetal damage.” 

“It is so adorable when you use big words like you know what they mean. Do you know what Health and Welfare Lasting Power of Attorney means?” 

“Yes, and I am still very capable of making my own decisions, so that doesn’t apply to me.” 

“Not according to the local judge, dearie. I happened to mention your case to him over lunch the other day, and the official documents were just delivered. If nobody puts your DNA on the registry of missing omegas, then I’ll be making all your decisions for you, and your child.” 

John shivered where he lay, but wanted to snarl and break Dr. Jam in half. Instead he finally asked what he’d been afraid to since the operating room. “Are you related to a James Moriarty?” 

“My grandson? Now he is a proper alpha, was since birth. Held the right amount of scorn for his beta mother and showed everyone who met him just where their place was. He was smart as paint and knew to respect me. It was rare that I had to beat some sense into him.” Dr. Jam came back to reality, letting the sickly fond smile fall of his face as he looked at John. “Why do you ask?” 

“No reason.” John replied, a little too fast to be believable. 

“Tell me how you know my James.” This was spoken in his alpha command voice, compelling John to respond. 

John blinked and let his face go slack. His injury that had prevented him from bonding had greatly reduced the effect of the alpha voice, but he didn’t even feel a twitch at Dr. Jam’s. Doctor Watson thought Dr. Jam might have a testosterone deficiency and knew of several medications that might help. Omega John would be dragged through hell and twice around the carpark before suggesting them and giving this guy more power. 

“My alpha mentioned the name, Jim Moriarty. Something of a business competitor, but I don’t know anything about their business.” John waited, but the expected question didn’t come. At no point in the days he’d been here had Dr. Jam tried to force John into giving up his alpha by asking in an alpha command voice, nor had anyone else questioned John. John figured this was because Dr. Jam didn’t really want to know, and the power of attorney suggested why Dr. Jam didn’t really want to know. Was he a possessive alpha or psychotic bastard who’d had a hand in creating Jim Moriarty? 

“You are going to love me.” Dr. Jam stated in his pale imitation of an alpha command. He was planting the idea, starting the weak minded omega on the road to believing his words. “You’ll be my omega and answer to the name Basil. I will break you and you will love me for it.” 

John sat up and reached with his left hand, caressing through Dr. Jam’s fine white hair. Pleased, Dr. Jam smiled and didn’t notice that John’s left hand was now holding his head still. Palm perpendicular to his arm, fingers curled in, John shoved with all the power in his right arm and felt Dr. Jam’s nose give. The bones fractured but John didn’t pull his punch, shoving bits of bone and cartilage into the diseased brain that thought John needed breaking. When his hand wouldn’t go any further, John made sure the man was dead with a quick pulse check. Not finding a heartbeat, John got a good grip with both hands and slammed the head nose first into the metal railing of his hospital bed. 

A pause allowed John to assess the situation. Dr. Jam wasn’t moving from his crumple on the floor and only the blood on his right hand would be hard to explain away. Wiping his right hand on the already bloodied bed sheets, John shouted and reached for the call button. 

“Help, emergency. Dr. Moriarty has fallen.” 

The nurse come in quickly and yelled for help. In the chaos and panic, nobody noticed that John was calmer than he’d been since he got here. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

Sherlock switched windows on his computer screen to watch as Moran was tortured. At this point, they all knew beating the man wasn’t going to get any information out of him; it just made them all feel better. When Moran was unconscious, Sherlock switched back to his hospital monitoring program. Moran had ordered an evacuation of the building that the phone trace led them to, but it was a planned and ordered evacuation. 

A hundred matching cars had pulled out of the underground garage and went in a hundred different directions. By the time they’d tracked down the one John had been in, it had been abandoned in Fenton. Private planes had been tracked until they had four different countries to look through. Several of the captured minions had talked about the plan to take the omega to a hospital in case of evacuation, but Mycroft still had people watching clinics and private practices in all four countries. 

There was no logic behind it, except John had mentioned Moriarty’s accent turning Irish when he was excited, but Sherlock had taken Ireland as his country to search. For an island with only a few major cities, it had a remarkable number of hospitals. Sherlock had looked through the admittance records of each but not found any John Doe omegas. He’d written a computer program to watch for new arrivals even as he began going through every record coming out of each hospital. 

He was looking for hospitals that used more private omega suites then they needed for the number of registered omegas, not the thing that finally got his attention. What finally made Sherlock stop and go back to reread it was an internal report about the death of a doctor in an omega’s room. Basil Gray, omega, was the only witness to the slip and fall that broke Dr. Moriarty’s nose and killed him. 

“You, Cindy, beta woman, get in here!” Sherlock called as his fingers flew over the keyboard. That had to be John; it was John as surely as if Sherlock had seen him kill Dr. Moriarty with a punch to the nose. Was that a favored technique or did John think it was most likely to be written off as an accident? What did this Moriarty do to breach John’s moral code? “Where are you, I’ve found him. You’ve got work to do, Claris!” 

“It’s Clara.” The PA assigned by Mycroft muttered as she stumbled into the room. 

Sherlock glanced at the clock, four in the morning in Dublin hotel, an hour earlier on the other side of the island. Somebody wanted this report in fast, so the hospital could cover its arse over a slip and fall death. How would they react if they figured out the sweet little omega in that room had a damn good reason for killing an alpha? 

“Whatever your name is, we need to be in County Mayo. I’ve found John so get things moving. Wake up all of London if you have to.” 

“Will you take a shower while I do? You are a little ripe to be meeting your omega.” 

“Fine, but we’d better be ready to leave once I’m out.” The woman smiled at that, but Sherlock ignored her. He hadn’t showered since the day he found out John was in jail, but he could be out in less than five minutes and moving to John at last. Except his cock was excited about seeing John too and Sherlock had to pause for a perfunctory wank. 

He took the time because John was in a hospital, so he was receiving medical care. Hopefully the quick wank would keep him calm until he figured out why John hadn’t tried to contact them after the text. They might have some issues to work through before they got to the sex; unless John’s heat started. Sherlock hoped that was soon, since it would bind John to him without all the imprecise emotional talking. When Sherlock was dressed and presentable, so was his PA. 

“All is ready, sir.” 

Sherlock ran to the lift; he could read ‘Basil Gray’s’ medical records in the private plane. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

When they’d moved John to a new room, he’d lost his stash of food. He’d also lost what little dignity remained, as they’d decided he was traumatized by the ‘accident’. Every nurse in the place had taken it upon themselves to bring him flowers this morning. Except the redhead who’d brought in a stuffed sea otter. Poor thing looked annoyed at all the flowers around it, and John could sympathize. At least the otter didn’t have to put up with the baby talk the humans now spoke to John in. After a brief outburst that his name was not Basil, as Dr. Moriarty had put in his records, the staff had all started using endearments on him.

The other hospital doctor, Henderson, had looked frazzled when he showed up this morning. He’d done a half-arsed check and announced that John could expect his first meeting with the psychologist after lunch. He’d actually said a very nice beta would be coming by to talk with him, but John knew what he meant. Dr. Jam’s obsession had helped John, in that it had kept John out of the system. 

An omega who didn’t want his alpha should have had several meetings with a shrink by now, according to standard hospital protocol. Cops should have stopped by to interview him and check for omega neglect or abuse. The medical professionals might think John needed sweet things and positive energy around him, but cops and shrinks would expect real answers. For all the thinking he’d done in the hospital, John had only come to one conclusion, one that didn’t make his other decisions any easier to come to. This fucked up world wasn’t the baby’s fault. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, John was glad he no longer had tubes tying him down. Come dark, he’d go down the hall and into the doctor’s lounge. Steal some clothes and hopefully some money, and he’d be gone before the cops could type up their interview with him. As for where he’d go, well, he’d just figure that out when he got there. 

The sound of high heels on linoleum told him either the shrink or a cop was coming, so he readied his innocent face. The heels were almost running, as if keeping up with someone with a much longer stride, but she could have just been in a hurry. Sherlock was the one who’d been able to tell the difference. 

“John.” Someone breathed from the doorway, and John snapped his head around to look. 

“You came?” 

Sherlock smiled and took a step but John held his palms up and Sherlock stopped, smile instantly gone. 

“Sherlock, they, I mean, I’m…” John dropped his head and arms to talk to the bed. 

John had never wanted his life to be defined by the number of kids he had but that wasn’t the same thing as not wanting kids. He’d have much preferred for it to be Sherlock’s, or really anyone else’s kid, but that option had been taken from him. Sherlock could still order an after-heat pill or even an abortion, and there was a risk that John would miscarry with a different alpha’s scent in his nose, but the baby was an innocent. 

“It’s not the baby’s fault who its alpha is. I’m sorry, Sherlock.” 

“John.” 

Sherlock’s voice was softer than John had ever heard it, so he had to look up again. A mousy woman in a tailored suit was closing the door as she stepped outside, but John barely noticed her before he was completely focused on Sherlock. The tall man was looming at John’s side as if afraid to touch him. 

“I’ve made mistakes too, but I don’t imagine you’ll hold them over my head, John.” 

“What?” 

“Mycroft told me you deserved the finer things in life. While I agreed with the deserving part, I didn’t think you want such things. But there were things you would want, like rent money and food, making sure the kids were provided for, you know, boring stuff. So I went out to make some money, without telling you.” 

“That’s why you left?” 

“Didn’t plan on being out that long, but it took longer than I expected to get to my target.” 

John repressed the urge to laugh, but his amusement came through in his voice. “Mycroft showed me a will that said you didn’t have any money. I was going to use it to force you to let me get a job, since you were going to be gone all the time.” A sigh. “Go on, tell me how much you made in a fortnight.” 

“That’s not what’s important. What is important, is that if you can’t hold my mistakes against me, I don’t see how you can hold the baby’s genetics against it. There is probably a link between genetics and mental disorders, but we’ll give the baby all the help we can to a normal life.” 

“You’d really raise your enemy’s baby with me?” 

“I can’t believe you’d try to raise a normal baby around me.” 

John laughed, he couldn’t help it. He also got to his feet and threw his arms around Sherlock. When he was done laughing into that chest, John muttered into it. “I hope you made enough money to stay around for a while. I think I love you, but we need to get to know each other better.” 

“How long do you think it will take you to know for sure?” Sherlock rumbled over John’s head. “I know I love you, but I only got five million for us to live on.” 

John craned his head back to look into Sherlock’s face. The alpha wasn’t joking. “Five million pounds in two weeks?” 

“I’ll get some more when the expenses come in, which was your idea, and I gave a million to Mycroft to invest. So we should be okay for a while, yes?” 

“I wouldn’t need a job right away.” John admitted, though his voice was too breathless to come out sarcastic. Anyone with that much money could have bought a much better omega than him. 

“Fine. You keep track of all that and just let me know when I need to make some more. You seem to be healthy and they were only keeping you here because you wouldn’t name your alpha.” Sherlock’s voice wavered a tiny bit, but John was already apologizing. 

“I’m sorry. I thought you would find me if you still wanted me, but at the same time, didn’t think you were looking.” John stepped back to run a hand through his hair. “Like I said, we need to get to know each other. I think, if we try, we can work this out.” 

“May we go home and start trying?” 

“Oh, God yes.” 

“Get you out of this place with such horrible memories?” 

“Food wasn’t that bad.” John replied, with a slight frown creasing his forehead. The bad memories were from the nameless hotel and a heat spent with Moran. 

“I meant, last night.” Sherlock dropped his voice to a whisper that necessitated him moving closer to John’s ear. “You did kill a man.” 

“He wasn’t a nice man, and I’ll explain all that later.” John pulled away, heading for the door but Sherlock’s grip on his arm stopped him. 

“Don’t you want to change?” 

John blushed and looked around the room. Walking to the windowsill, he picked up the sea otter to confess to it. “Naked when I was brought in.” 

“Right, the shopping trip that started all this.” Sherlock suddenly looked weary, like he wanted this little adventure to be over. “Fuck it. We’ve got a private plane and I’ll order some things online to be delivered by the time we get back. You’ll just have to be careful of the rest of the five million.” 

John gave a surprised laugh and then Sherlock’s coat was draped over his back. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s shoulder and John held tight to the sea otter. They walked out the door, by the staff and out the main door without anyone protesting. The mousy woman from earlier held open a car door and they were off. 

John marveled at it all, thinking that it couldn’t be this easy. Once the private jet was in the air and Sherlock was letting him pick out his clothes online, John began to accept the ease of it. Waiting around for a rescue wasn’t really his style, but it was nice occasionally. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

_Roof of St. Barts._

Sherlock frowned down at the unsigned text, but chose to ignore it. His experiment was more important than random messages, even if the message was to meet on the roof of the building he was in. In a week or so, he’d need to know exactly which one of these baby formulas lived up to the hype, in case John didn’t lactate after the birth. 

His phone chimed again, the noise loud in his lab. The closer they got to the due date, the less Sherlock’s phone was set to vibrate or silence. And Sherlock could no longer ignore it, having to know if it was from John. In this case it was a weblink from the same unknown number. Blaming his curiosity, Sherlock clicked through to seejohnnydance.com. It showed John at the sink of the flat, his back to the camera. He wasn’t dancing, simply moving, washing his breakfast dishes. A red light showed up on his back, a single dot steady between his shoulder blades. Another text came through from the same number, and Sherlock opened it with shaking hands. 

_Roof of St. Barts. Now._

Sherlock ran, texting Mycroft as he did. 

_Sniper on John_

No punctuation or signature, but Sherlock was sure Mycroft would know it was from him anyway. Turning on the video recorder, Sherlock dropped his phone back in his pocket as he emerged onto the roof. The large, blond man standing at parade rest made the alpha in Sherlock want to attack before Sherlock could put a name to that face. 

“That red dot on John is the only thing keeping me from killing you where you stand, Moran.” 

“That would be why I put my apprentice sniper on John. Needed to talk to you, not kill you outright.” Moran seemed to be trying for the condescending disinterest that Moriarty was known for, but he wasn’t getting it. 

“You should stop by for tea.” Sherlock snarled, covering his emotions with annoyance and sarcasm. 

“I should have put a bullet in your brain and another in John’s. Are you two so stupid you don’t know this was supposed to be torture?” 

Sherlock had to actually think about it. He knew talking on the roof didn’t count, so he had to figure out what Moran was referring to. “Raising Jim’s kid is torture?” 

“Yes!” Moran’s exasperation was clear in that one word, but he went on as if he had inherited Moriarty’s need to explain. “You were supposed to kill your cheating, ruined omega the instant you found him. But you managed to find out he was pregnant before meeting him in person. A real alpha would have forced an abortion on him, not caring if it drove the omega to depression or suicide. They don’t need brains to fuck but you, you’ve reorganized your life around this kid and he’s not even yours!” 

“Moran, you’re foaming at the mouth a little. Are you sure Jim didn’t experiment on you, you know, before he tossed you over for that same omega?” John’s voice, a memory from a case worked together, chided Sherlock for his words. ‘Don’t taunt the crazies, love.’ But in this case, it seemed to be the right thing to say as Moran laughed before he replied, in a much calmer tone. 

“Jim was going to breed the omega so we’d have a kid or two, tiny killers to raise our way. I have more of Jim’s sperm, so I could try again after you killed the baby, or John. When you didn’t, I was going to wait, so damn patiently for the right time. Let you get Jim potty trained and then take him, watch what that did to the little breeder. But I’m bored of waiting, even if it does make me sound like Jim. We’re going to sit up here and have a nice chat while my men cut Jim out of your mate.” 

Sherlock growled, but didn’t attack. He fought back his instincts because something was trying to surface in his brain. “You know it’s not Jim in there. It’s a kid that’s half John, not a clone.” 

“He will be Jim when I’m finished with him. Jim’s genius will override whatever tiny influence your breeder might have.” 

That wasn’t what bothered Sherlock, but it gave him a few precious seconds to think and dig out what was really going on. It was the timing of the thing. Smiling in triumph, Sherlock took a couple steps toward Moran; he certainly didn’t have the genius of Moriarty. 

“Moran, I find the timing of this attack suspicious. Mycroft has had people dismantling Moriarty’s network since we found out about it. But this last, shall we say, trimester, I’ve been working with Mycroft to end the web.” 

When John had grown too big to run after Sherlock, when his alpha instincts wouldn’t let him put his mate in danger, they’d changed things. They’d turned the upstairs into a nursery, moved Sherlock’s lab equipment to 221C, and Sherlock had taken cases he could crack from his computer. It was so very hatefully domestic and yet Sherlock loved it. 

“We’re getting close to destroying you, aren’t we? You’ve come for the baby so you can go into hiding, instead of waiting until he was older. Manipulating my emotions and alpha instincts doesn’t seem to work for you, like it would for Moriarty; you’re not worthy of him.” 

That reached past Moran’s plans and brains, turning him into a snarling alpha flinging himself at Sherlock. Responding in kind, Sherlock still managed to keep his wits about him. Moran was a trained soldier who liked the killing too much even before he’d met Moriarty, and Sherlock didn’t like his chances in a fair fight. But with Moran lost to brute strength and Sherlock still thinking, the fight was no longer fair. Punching and ducking, kicking as the need arose, Sherlock thought only of techniques and weak spots. If he allowed himself to doubt, to wonder if Mycroft had saved John, all would be lost. 

Sherlock was weakening under the brutal onslaught, but Moran’s favored arm was broken and the opposing leg wouldn’t bend. Dropping his left shoulder, Sherlock caught Moran in the stomach, knocking them both to the ground. Rolling away, Sherlock saw a glimmer of awareness return to Moran’s eyes and searched for the words to drive it away. 

“That omega was man enough to take Jim from you.” 

Moran howled, climbed onto unsteady legs and swayed for a moment. Hoping he was going to pass out, Sherlock waited, relaxing a tiny bit. Moran charged in that instant, sweeping Sherlock up and they clung to each other as they fell over the edge of the roof. Moran began to laugh while Sherlock tried to figure out how to make Moran hit the pavement first. It wasn’t something he’d thought about before, so his calculations were slightly off. 

Pain flared from every cell in his body and Sherlock couldn’t tell how much of the pain was from the initial impact, impacting with Moran, the fight, or impacting with the concrete after impacting with Moran. It hurt everywhere and Sherlock couldn’t move, couldn’t think but he could see. His eyes chose to show him the image of John reaching for him, his kind face converted to pure anguish. Sherlock couldn’t fix that, couldn’t do anything about that before it was all dark. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל

Mycroft stretched his neck and made a mental note to increase funding to the NHS for visitor’s chairs. He had so much work to do but he had to be here when the patient woke up; too much had changed to dare leave. The hospital door opened, and Mycroft dropped his hands to the armrests. Too much had happened to dare show a weakness, no matter who was coming through that door. 

“Sir.” Her voice was soft but professional, just what he needed right now. “The clothing has been moved and the bundle has been distributed.” 

“The bundle’s owner will receive support?” 

“A new neighbor, Clara, will make sure of that.” 

“Thank you, my dear. Please get some rest, I feel what is coming will be very tiring.” 

“Should I have another bed brought in for you to use?” 

Mycroft almost smiled at her not-so-subtle hint that he could use so rest as well. 

“Don’t bother, I’m awake.” 

Mycroft’s almost smile turned into an actual wince at John’s hoarse voice. Shouting for Sherlock, his alpha, had made the intubation worse. A quick glance at her, and his perceptive PA left them alone. Mycroft stood and walked to John’s side. He didn’t dare take the hand of the drugged and injured man. “John, what do you remember?” 

“Normal morning, Sherlock spent the night at Bart’s and we were to meet up for lunch.” John’s voice got worse until he had to stop to clear his throat. 

Mycroft held out a cup of tepid water and let John sip at the straw. He was patient, not putting off the inevitable. 

“Washing up, noticed a laser target reflected in the kitchen window. Went into the bedroom, put on a disguise, took the back way out. Went to Bart’s…” John’s voice broke in a way no amount of water would be able to fix. “I must have hit my head and seen things.” 

“You know what you saw was real.” 

“No.” The soft denial was a warm up for what was to come, so Mycroft stopped it. 

“Sherlock fell. He is dead.” 

“No, he is not!” John was yelling, struggling to sit up and fight the sedatives in his system. For all John’s strength, Mycroft held him down with one hand splayed on his chest. When he realized that he couldn’t get up, John spoke again. “I can still feel him, Mycroft. The bond is weak, but it’s there.” 

“That is the familial bond we now share, my brother’s mate.” To forestall the protest, Mycroft held John’s right arm where he could see it. There was a neat bandage around the bite mark, but it was the least of John’s injuries. Seeing the bandage also brought John’s awareness to those injuries, and his bandaged but flat stomach. 

“Mycroft?” 

“Your alpha fell in battle to protect you. Someone knocked into you and you hit your head but you got up to go to Sherlock. Early labor and a concussion were hard on you; I had to bond with you to get you through it. The emergency surgery was not sufficient to save the baby.” 

John was firmly supported by the hospital bed, but somehow he managed to collapse before Mycroft’s eyes. He began to sob and now Mycroft held his hand, doubting the man could even tell. There was much to do, but keeping John alive was his priority. John’s clothes were already at Mycroft’s London home and Harriet Watson had accepted responsibility for the baby of the brother she believed dead. Life and death had never seemed to be matters of belief before, but some truths were not ready to be spoken. Some lies physically hurt to say, even if the teller was made of ice. 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ S<3J ˥(?)ל


End file.
